I have found that I write best when I am saddest; and I have found that happiness, joy not only demand a prime sad, sad emotion, but they almost feel the same at their height. They feel and look the same. I have always pondered upon monotony, that life is ever revolving and our acts are nothing but routine. I have cried in joy and in weeping, and in the end of the emotion it will come back running full circle…most times back to square one.

I have always pondered upon monotony and have come to realize that the more of these I experience the more apathetic they ask us to be. Almost there is no point to getting excited over moments that are fleeting, successes that will pass, people that will come and go, sentiments forgotten, and the transience of it all.

I have found that people do, do and do, to hopefully finish. And when all is said and done, people crave what once passed through–what slipped our tongues, what slid through our fingers, what grew beyond us; faster than our minds can think or our mouths can speak…what we can not hold forever in our hands.


The sun sets, its orange hues baffle us with beauty, then leaves us in with the darkness.

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